‘How’s your girlfriend?’ asked Rami, kicking the football to Zafir. Rami wasn’t great at football but playing it was another way they could talk privately.

‘I haven’t got a girlfriend.’

‘So why do you always go Eleni says this, Eleni says that.’

‘I don’t!’

‘Yes, you do.’

‘Ibn al Homar, son of a donkey!’ Zafir was angry. Sure, he might have mentioned how Eleni wasn’t that bad at skateboarding and how she was starting to like living in Syria – but she wasn’t his girlfriend. ‘She’s just a friend,’ he said.

Zafir kicked the ball back to Rami, high and hard. It passed over Rami’s head, and went straight towards a group of boys walking in the other direction.

Murshid and his gang.

‘Shuf ya, hey look!’ yelled Zafir. They turned and he saw their startled faces. Murshid reacted like a real footballer. He headed the ball to one of the other guys, who let it drop and then kicked it to another. They all started playing, leaving Zafir and Rami out.

‘Give us our ball.’ Zafir was still feeling angry – with everyone, but especially with Rami.

‘Did you hear that? Ibn al Homar’s friend wants the football,’ jeered Mustafa.

‘They can have it,’ said Murshid. ‘It’s probably got donkey muck on it.’ The boys laughed and Mustafa, showing off, juggled the football on his ankle. Without letting it drop to the ground, he kicked it back to Zafir. It was a terrible kick, low and wide. Zafir had to run then leap sideways to catch it. As he landed, he slid full-length on the grass but he managed to keep the ball firmly in his grasp.

When he stood up he was surprised to see Murshid coming towards him.

‘That was a good take, Haddad,’ he said. ‘Our goalie is out with a bad knee. We need you on the team. Come to training next Tuesday after school.’ The way Murshid spoke made it sound like Zafir didn’t have a choice.

It was the last thing Zafir had expected. When he’d first come to the school he’d hoped to get in with a gang, but he didn’t like the way Murshid just expected he’d do what he said. He clutched the football to his chest and shrugged. ‘Maybe,’ he said.

Murshid raised his eyebrows. ‘It’d be great if you came,’ he said. ‘The team needs you.’ He was grinning at Zafir in a way that made Zafir think they could even be friends.

Zafir nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said.

‘Good. But, make sure you come on your own.’

‘Yeah, don’t bring Ibn al Homar,’ said Mustafa.

Zafir felt his blood rising. ‘Why? What is this all about?’

No one spoke for a minute.

‘Someone should’ve told you.’ Murshid’s voice was cold. ‘His father went to prison because he’s a traitor. Now he lives in exile. He isn’t wanted in this country.’

‘My father was innocent!’ yelled Rami. He turned and ran, but not before Zafir saw the tears in his eyes.

‘We don’t like traitors,’ said Murshid, ‘and he’s the son of one. No matter how much he tries to make up for it he’ll always be the son of a traitor. It’s up to you. If you want to play football in our team …’

Murshid didn’t finish the sentence but Zafir understood. If he stayed friends with Rami then he wouldn’t be able to join the team.

Murshid and his gang walked off.

It was Thursday, the last day of school before the weekend. Zafir had five days to make up his mind about whether or not he would play football. First he needed to talk to Rami, but Rami avoided Zafir for the rest of the day and Zafir didn’t hear from him over the weekend. He sent texts, but Rami never answered. He even tried ringing, but all he got was Rami’s voicemail.

The rest of the weekend wasn’t great either. They didn’t stay at Tetah’s on Friday because Pops was leaving for Damascus to do some training at a hospital for two weeks. Mum was cross because it meant he wouldn’t be home on Mother’s Day. No one was happy when the white government car came to pick up Pops.

Rami wasn’t at school on Sunday but when Abu Moussa dropped Zafir off on Monday he saw Rami hurrying up the path. He could tell it was Rami because of the solar panels on his backpack catching the sun.

Zafir jumped out of the taxi but Rami was too far ahead. But when Zafir ran into the locker room, Rami was coming out.

‘We’ve got to talk,’ said Zafir, grabbing him by the arm.

‘There’s a letter in your locker.’ Rami didn’t look at Zafir as he pulled away.

Zafir rammed his bag into the locker and saw an envelope on the shelf. He ripped it open and pulled out a page. Rami’s writing was neat and small.

Uqsimu billah, I swear to God this is the truth. Destroy this letter as soon as you have read it!

One year ago I discovered the Naqib was not my father when I won a scholarship to attend this school and on the first day Murshid called me the ‘son of a traitor’. I didn’t understand but he said everyone in Homs knew about my true father. When I asked my mother all she would say is that I must consider myself fortunate to have the Naqib as a father now. I had to find out for myself the secret my family kept from me. I discovered that my true father was a human rights lawyer in Damascus. He was arrested for criticising the government and my mother didn’t know where he was taken. I was born seven months after his arrest and he never knew about me because my mother came back to her family in Homs. They made her divorce him and marry the Naqib. My father was finally sentenced by the Security Court to ten years’ imprisonment for spreading false information, weakening national morale and slandering a government institution. After my father was released he went to live in America where he speaks out against the al-Assad regime. On his blog he says Syrians live behind a Wall of Fear that must be broken down. The Syrian people must rise up and demand the resignation of the president to rid this country of this family and his followers who treat Syria as if it is their own private fiefdom.

When I turn thirteen, I’m going to live with him. I don’t want to grow up in this country because here everyone turns into a maa’ez or a wolf. That’s the problem with Syria. The only choices we have are to be a wolf or its prey.

DESTROY THIS LETTER IMMEDIATELY!

Zafir felt like the paper were about to burn his hands. Everything Rami wrote had to be true because he had used a sacred oath. As he reread it he felt angry with his friend for not telling him the truth before and angry at Murshid and Mustafa for being bullies and even angry with Mum and Pops for making him come to live in Syria where bad things like this happened. Then he felt scared. What if someone caught him with the letter? Rami had said to destroy it immediately.

Zafir crumpled the paper in his fist and ran to the toilet block. He locked himself in a cubicle, ripped the letter up into the smallest pieces and dropped them into the bowl. The scraps of paper whirled around as they were flushed away. He couldn’t get the words ‘wolf or its prey’ out of his mind. Which one would he be?